


Take My Hand

by rudeandtotallyginger (orphan_account)



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: 5+1 Things, Fluff, M/M, cute stuff, hand holding, idk - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-29
Updated: 2016-04-29
Packaged: 2018-06-05 05:59:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6692368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/rudeandtotallyginger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>5 times John wants to grab Sam's hand and one time he gets a hand to hold (plus a little extra).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Take My Hand

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you dig this, I'm actually super proud of this! Find me on tumblr at [tjwhoashie](http://tjwhoashie.tumblr.com/) and yell with me about John Tavares and the playoffs or literally anything.

_**(1.)** _

John was fifteen when he first caught himself reaching for Sam’s hand.

Halloween had snuck up on him, and John couldn’t believe that he’d forgotten Sam’s favorite holiday. He’d thrown together a costume, really quickly, and had ended up looking more like a weird lanky lumberjack than Marty McFly. But he was making it work, kind of. It was better than Sam’s costume. But at least he had enough layers to maybe postpone his death a bit if he really was attacked by a murderer. Like right now.

They’d lost Stammer and PK in the first few minutes, the two taking off to eat gross funnel cakes before they ran from zombies and scary people, PK joking that they’d puke on people, and it’d be like being a part of the haunted house.

He was running next to Sam through a haunted house, dressed in the most stereotypical 80s getup, parachute pants and all. He was scared, as they’d just been chased down by a guy with a (fake) chainsaw and Sam was laughing through his heavy breathing while John was a tad bit closer to crying, or something similar. They both played hockey, were going to try their best to go pro, but the sheer terror of being chased was making John’s heart beat faster.

And Sam’s hand was right there, open and waiting. John could just reach out and grab it, if he really wanted to. He could just hold Sam’s hand in that terrible, horrible haunted house, and then maybe John would feel better. Mayb-

John shakes his head, chasing away the thoughts and stopping his hand in mid-air, where it’s just about halfway to Sam’s. He can’t believe himself, and he snaps his hand back into his pocket, while Sam finally stops laughing.

“Eh, John, you good?” Sam asks, through his heavy breathing.

John nods, and flashes Sam a nervous smile, which only makes Sam laugh at him more, before gesturing him to follow him towards the next attraction.

Halloween is the worst, John thinks, as Sam leads him into the “Asylum,” and John starts screaming almost automatically.

After one of the longest nights of his life, John climbs into Sam’s car and puts his feet up on the dash, like it’s nothing. Sam scolds him for a few minutes, and John yells back over the loud radio (which is playing Monster Mash, what the fuck) that Sam can suck it up.

“You dragged me here, so it’s your fault.” John responds to more complaints.

_**(2.)** _

The day Sam came home after being drafted was the next time John found himself reaching for his best friend’s hand, like it was something he was allowed. They were sitting, watching the Blue Jays game, and Sam was rambling on and on about how everyone was so _cool_ in the NHL. He was telling John all about the other draft picks he’d met and how much John was going to love the experience when he got drafted the next year.

John smiles and listens to Sam’s words, watching his mouth move more than paying attention to every word that Sam says. Apparently he went on some crazy night with Jakub Voracek and Lars Eller, drinking and partying with the two other top draft picks. John keeps snickering as things happen, because it sounds a lot like drunken parties he’d been to with Sam over the years.

He thinks back to Stammer’s party last weekend, celebrating Sam and PK’s draft. They’d gotten wasted in the Stamkos backyard, on a trampoline that that the four of them had bought together when they were little kids, saving dollars in piggy banks. They’d yelled about where they’d each get drafted, and it’s all wild speculation. Laughing and being drunk with his three best friends for probably the last time in his life was insane to think about.

John snaps out of his memory, and Sam’s still going on about Patrick Kane’s stickhandling, and his hand is sitting dangerously close to John’s on the couch.

John finds his hand inching towards Sam’s, and his thoughts drifting to how he’d really like to kiss-

John snaps back to reality, and pulls his hand away from Sam’s abruptly. Sam gives him a strange look, and turns his attention to where the Jays are getting beaten soundly by the Astros. Sam sighs, and John snaps to attention, watching Sam’s face in the midday light. Without the hindrances of hats and helmets, John thinks Sam looks nearly perfect with the sun hitting him like that.

Shit. John’s catching feelings, he’s going to have to _will_ them away, even though he knows it won’t work.

_**(3.)** _

The day John gets drafted, he returns to his hotel room in Montreal to find Sam, fast asleep on his bed. John didn’t even know Sam was here, was even more surprised he was asleep in John’s bed, and looked like he was trying to wait up for John to return from meeting the media. It was far past 3 AM, so John guessed that Sam must’ve gotten in far earlier and then camped out, as Sam’s book was open to a halfway point. Upon further inspection, it was the third Harry Potter book, which Sam had been complaining about not having time to read.

John picked up the book, putting a piece of paper that he’d received from Don Cherry in between the pages, and smiled down at Sam’s sleeping form. He was so unguarded, and he actually looked happy for the first time since the last summer. Something’s been wrong with Sam in Edmonton, and John’s been trying his best to cheer him up, but John’s almost sure it has something to do with all the losing the Oilers do.

John smooths Sam’s hair out of his face with a tiny smile, one of the first ones to feel real since twenty minutes after the Islanders called his name. The media makes his skin crawl, and being the first overall draft pick is only make that worse. John catches himself thinking hard with a hand carding through Sam’s hair. He panics, and pulls his hand away, and watches as Sam tries to follow the contact in his sleep.

John practically melts, overcome with emotion and finding tears prickling in his eyes, a smile on his face. He hasn’t let himself really process being the first overall pick yet, hasn’t had time to sit down and think about his new home on Long Island, or how he really feels about the whole deal. John takes a seat next to Sam’s sleeping form, and smiles, tears running down his face.

He doesn’t even notice Sam waking up, half laughing into his folded hands, his knees up to his chest. John’s at his end-of-season weight, skinnier than he would be any other time of the year and he’s so small, practically folded in on himself and trying not to sob out loud. He doesn’t want to wake Sam up.

Sam’s arm surrounds his shoulders, scaring John and causing him to jump. Sam’s smile is sleepy and he tousles John’s hair, a smile on his face.

“I’m proud, you know that?” Sam whispers, his face close to John’s hair, as Sam’s leaning into him sleepily.

“When did you even get in, you idiot?” John asks, notably ignoring Sam’s confession.

“Like three hours ago, took the red eye from Edmonton. Had to see you, on your big day.” John laughs at that, nonbelieving.

“Sleep, Sam.” John whispers back, and Sam quickly lies down, trying to pull John down by his shoulder to sleep next to him, like they were kids again. John reaches out to grab Sam’s hand as soon as they’re lying down, as if they were 5 years old and worn out from a long day of hockey, and not eighteen and worn out _from getting drafted into the fucking NHL_. John moves his hand away from Sam’s to straighten his tie, sighing.

Sharing beds like little kids is something John never thought he’d experience again, but he’s so glad he’s getting to experience it on the biggest night of his life. Or the second biggest night of his life, the biggest will be when he lifts that silver cup above his head.

John falls asleep, dreaming of Sam and celebrating winning the cup in orange and blue.

_**(4.)** _

The game goes well, and John only takes a few shifts with Sam on the ice, but he plays distracted when he can see the last name Gagner stretched across the back of an Oilders jersey. It’s hard to play against your best friend when he’s in colors really similar to you, yet you’re not playing one-on-one.

He stares across the ice while there’s a TV time out, and follows Sam’s jersey with his eyes. Frans elbows him with a knowing smile, and Matt gives him a look. He blushes bright red as they both laugh at him, and John shoots daggers at them with his death glare.

He looks back up and tracks Sam down on ice. He’s getting jostled by Taylor Hall, but his eyes are right on John’s part of the visitor’s bench. He offers Sam a smile, and gets a blush from Sam in return.

The Islanders lose, badly, and the Oilers scrape out their first win in weeks. Of course John feels bad, but he finds himself silently cheering for Sam’s goal in the third period. John wasn’t on the ice, but it was a fucking beauty of a goal. John had to stop himself from getting excited, years of media training coming in handy and making John calm down and look crushed that the Oilers scored their go-ahead goal.

John’s feeling down after he hits the showers, the true fact of the loss sinking in. They’re losing more than they’re winning right now, and it sucks. John never had this problem in Oshawa, with the Generals, or on most of his other teams. He’s just totally used to being the best, but now he’s playing with people who are so, so much better than him and the going keeps getting tougher. Some days, he just wants to crawl into a bed and forget about the whole world. Some days, John wants to sleep in and morning skates, but he can’t. He just can’t.

Sam’s there waiting when he walks out of the room. A smile slowly works its way across John’s face, and Sam gestures for John to follow him, towards the back door of Rexall Place. John follows without having to say anything, and climbs into Sam’s car whenever they reach it. He guesses they’re headed back to Sam’s apartment, but he doesn’t know. It’s just nice to be in the same space as his best friend for the first time in months.

John’s watching Sam’s hands on the wheel of his car, and when Sam puts his arm on the console, John reaches for it for a second before having to remind himself that Sam would probably get mad if he went through with it. He ponders how Sam would handle it, and the silence is comfortable the whole way home.

Sam surprises John with a water gun and Nerf war in his apartment, and they both fall asleep on Sam’s couch hours later, watching trashy comedy specials on Comedy Central until well into the morning, cracking jokes like they’re in high school again.

John nearly fools himself into thinking it’s all right to reach out and grab Sam’s hand during and Eddie Murphy special, but reminds himself before his hand even moves.

_**(5.)** _

The summer after John’s rookie season is a whirlwind, they finish last in the Met and Sam smiles at him like he’s the sun after a thunderstorm.

John finds himself back in Mississauga that summer, practically as soon as he can escape Nassau Coliseum. He hops onto the first plane to Toronto and texts Sam his flight info, hoping that Sam will get the message and be at the airport to pick him up. John smiles wide as the plane leaves LaGuardia, just excited to be back home, and away from the pressures of his NHL club. Plus, he’s optimistic about this summer being when he finally tells Sam.

He falls asleep quickly on the plane, and probably pisses a few people off with his snoring, but he could care less.

Climbing off the plane with pains in most of his joints from their final few games. He’d been hit very hard, and was covered in bruises. He walked off the flight with his suitcase full of his very few belongings, and walks down towards baggage claim to pick up his gear bags and sticks.

He was still worn out, tired and had his hat pulled so low that he almost doesn’t notice the sign with his name written across it. It’s drawing a bit of a crowd, though, so John looks up at the group of people who are holding small signs with names on them, the pick-up area.

And there’s Sam, right in the middle. He’s in a full suit, probably one of his game day ones, and he’s holding an orange and blue sign that reads “JOHN TAVARES” in giant, capital letters. John blushes bright red as Sam notices him and starts waving his arms around wildly, the small crowd’s attention turning to John.

John immediately regrets wearing an Islanders hat when the group descends upon him, too. John looks like a mess, and children taking pictures with him is something he hopes doesn’t end up on the internet. He signs a few hats, and smiles for each kid as they take pictures. Then he finally gets to turn his attention to Sam.

“Sam, why?” are the only words he can get out, but he’s feeling a genuine smile spread across his face. He wants to hug Sam with all his being, but can’t just attack Sam with that in a crowded airport they’ve already been spotted in.

“Thought you’d appreciate it, plus you’d blush, and that would make it worth the extra effort.” Sam said with a huge smile and a laugh. Sam could barely contain himself, it seemed like he was bouncing off the walls and wanted nothing more than to jump around with joy. John could project that it was because Sam missed him, but he figured it was more of a prank well done kind of thing.

He nearly reached out to grab Sam’s hand to lead him towards the carousel, but ended up slapping him on the shoulder instead, and completed the shoulder hug, leading Sam around the corner towards the baggage carousel.

John’s bags and sticks are the only things left on the carousel, and Sam makes fun of him for his Oshawa Generals bag tags that he’d attached to Islanders issued bags. He leads him outside, and smiles wide when he opens John’s door after helping John deposit his bags in the trunk of his old, beat up car.

“You’ve still got this thing?” John asks, throwing his fist down on the top of the car like he used to, to piss off Sam back then, and today.

“Hey! Don’t treat her like that!” Sam yells in a joking voice, a smile in his eyes.

John puts his feet up on the dash and smiles, basking in the warmth of the light coming through the sunroof and lets the feelings of belonging wash over him, those feelings that he only finds while sitting shotgun in Sam Gagner’s car on a summer’s day, or a winter’s night.

_**(+1.)** _

John wakes up the morning Sam is traded and feels different, knows something has changed just by the way the air smells, or how his gut feels. The buzzing on his bedside table is getting annoying, and John groans, running a hand through his hair and feeling around for a t-shirt that’s got to be around on the floor.

That’s when John realized that the buzzing wasn’t stopping, that it was his phone. He figures it’s someone he’s losing from his team, and frowns at the iPhone that’s covered in blue and orange. He picks it up, groaning out a, “hello?” in a sleepy and hoarse voice.

“Let me in.” Sam chokes out, sounding devastated and angry at the same time. John jumps up to action, realizing that it’s Sam and that he’s outside. He can hear the knocking now, and John practically runs towards the door. He’s still not wearing a shirt when he opens the door, his pajama pants low on his hips as Sam looks him up and down.

John’s probably just imagining it, but Sam looks as if he’s been crying a little bit. He also looks like he’s about to eat John alive, and he pushes his way into John’s apartment without a single word.

“What’s going on, Sam?” John asks, before realizing that today is the trade deadline. The trade deadline and Sam’s been traded. John doesn’t understand how Sam feels, but he wants to help. Wants to show Sam how much he means to him.

“I was, I was traded John.” Sam says with a half-smile on his face.

John reaches out and grabs his hand, letting himself have this for the first time in his life. Sam gripped John’s hand right back, and looked John up and down all over again, eyes getting caught on his chest.

“Where?” John asks, swallowing and trying to ignore the looks Sam is giving him, convincing himself that he’s making things up again in his head.

“Here.” Sam answers, with a whisper, and he moves forward, his lips colliding with John’s. John’s eyes are wide as Sam kisses him within an inch of his life, and John’s too in shock to even react, to even kiss back.

Sam’s hands are on his chest, and John finally gets with the program and kisses him back with all the feelings he’s been hiding for years of their friendship. He smiles into the kiss and then Sam’s earlier words finally process, and he pulls back.

“Here. You mean, here? You’re an Islander?” John asks, quietly, practically baring his soul to Sam in his own living room. In Brooklyn, which is apparently where Sam is now, too.

“Nope, I’m a Ranger.” Sam states, with a smile.

“I’ve been kissing a New York Ranger?!” John practically screams, sputtering and gasping dramatically, as Sam laughs and laughs and laughs. “No, dumbass, I’m an Islander. It’s official. I sign today.”

John wants to cry, or something like that. He settles for entwining their fingers again, finally giving into his urges to hold Sam’s hand, smiling at him and making more eye contact than he’s made with any single person in years.

“Wait, would you not want to kiss me if I was a Ranger?”

John’s laughter can probably be heard from the street.


End file.
